Sal and Caroline
by phfina
Summary: The children get to leave, complete their assignments, yes, but they don't have to think about school all that much when they are dismissed, but for the teacher ... my days and nights are starting to blur together. On day two. That's not good.
1. Day 1: Gute Morgan, Miss Caroline!

**Chapter summary:** The three 'R's of education: 'Readin', 'Ritin', and 'Rithmetic,' or so I supposed that's what these children though they were here for. I suppose that it was close enough for these simple farmers' children. And it was well: they were good children. For the most part.

* * *

"Good morning, children," I said, brimming with confidence, overjoyed, in fact. "My name is Miss Caroline, and I am your new school marm."

"Good morning, Miss Caroline," the school-house full of children droned a reply. Some of them, I could hear, accidently, had begun to intone, "Gute morgan," by mistake before hastily correcting themselves.

Speaking German was illegal.

But I didn't mind it. I was almost euphoric.

I couldn't believe it.

I could not believe it!

I had done it.

I had followed our Manifest Destiny and gone West! But not only that, and, well, even just that was more than enough to cause a fracas so vehement Back East, back home in Boston, that I had been cut off and disowned from my family, forever.

But not only had I gone West, I had done something much more than that: I had secured a position, a _paying_ position. I was one of the very, very few women out in society here and even back in Boston, who was able to support herself through her own means.

Not that I was a suffragette, nor anything so radical as that, but this wild frontier needed a civilizing influence from Back East, and so few women of education and manners dared to make the trek out her to tame these unruly beasts.

I dared.

I had chafed under the constraints and censure of society. The expectations. _'Oh, you're not married? You're four-and-twenty?'_

The looks. I grew tired of having to explain that a woman could choose to follow her own path and have her own tastes, and not just be the ornament on the arm of her husband because that's what she was expected to do.

The dumbfounded silence I got from that declaration! Or, not silence, but a very polite: _'Oh, how ... modern!'_ And sometimes people expressed themselves rather more ... how shall I say? _forthrightly_ if they were too shocked to be polite.

But that was nothing to the conversations behind closed doors I had had, over and over again, with my parents.

I was being stifled. Smothered.

So when this opportunity to be a teacher of all subjects for children and youths out here on the Plains, I leapt at it, said my _'bon voyages,'_ and headed West.

This opportunity, being in Belle Fourche, South Dakota, was just a bit under two-thousand miles from Boston, from civilized society and their 'civilized' expectations on how a young lady should comport herself and whom she should marry, and marry now, if not three or five years before now, if you please.

In short, it was my great escape, my adventure into the wild unknown, and I relished standing here in front of these children.

They were a mixed bag, twelve students, aged six to probably six and ten years of age at the utmost, farmer's children, so rough, tough, and they had an air of no-nonsense to them. They looked tired, mostly, and I assumed they had been working with their families to sundown and had probably been up, helping with the farm work before sunrise, too.

So I didn't expect any trouble from them. They were here to learn, otherwise they'd be on the fields, and not here, and I was here to teach them.

We, all of us, wanted to be here.

And I wanted it moreso than all of them.

I was a teacher!

"Well!" I said breezily, trying to hide the smile from my face, and probably failing miserably. "Let's see what we have here. I'd like each of you to introduce yourselves, give me your name and your age, and then I'll go over the rules of the classroom, which I am sure will be no surprise, and then go over what we shall do today. As the older children are in the back, we'll start there. Miss," I pointed to the back row, "let's start with you."

A young woman blinked at me in surprise, but recovered her composure instantly.

Her face was weather-beaten, and her eyes were hard. "Yes, miss," she said coolly, "I'm Sally H-..."

"Please stand when you address me or the class, Sally," I cut in, my tone strong and sure.

You had to enforce discipline right away with children, otherwise they would think you weak and themselves better than you. And how could one teach when the proper order and good discipline were subverted? One couldn't.

Having been in an all-girls' college none too long ago, I knew this rather well.

Sally's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. I heard several titters from around the classroom, and a farm boy on the other side of the class guffawed. I heard one person whisper, softly, _'Sally.' _The whisper was derisive, and this caused more laughter.

"Excuse me, children," my voice was clear as a bell with a displeased undercurrent. "Show respect to the person speaking."

The class quieted down right away.

I felt so ... _right_ in my role.

I waved to Sally. "Sally," I commanded.

She regarded me coolly for a full second, but I could see she was seething.

She rose from her seat ... not particularly slowly, or indolently, but it were as if she were trying to maintain an even temperament.

"Yes, miss," she said. "My name is Sally Herbst."

Herbst. A German name. She looked German, with her dun-colored hair going straight down her back and hazel eyes that stared straight back at you, almost rudely in their air of superiority.

She sat back down, glaring at me.

"Thank you, Sally," I said from the front of the class, "you were also to state your age."

"I'm ..." she said.

"Sally," I cut in, and raised my eyebrow.

She shut her mouth; I saw her jaw working.

She stood. "Miss, I'm fifteen."

She remained standing, her chest almost heaving, and I could see it was now an effort for her to control her breathing, as if she wanted to answer me back.

She waited for me.

_Hm. _I thought. _This one looks like trouble._

"Thank you, Sally," I said dismissively.

She sat. I looked right back into her eyes for a second. I let her know, with my cool regard, that _I see you, I am watching you, I will not let you play your games with me, young lady._

I turned my torso slightly, I was leaning against my desk, and made a very slight notation on my floor chart. It was just a scribble by her name.

But everybody in class saw me do it.

This 'Sally Herbst' was on notice.

I waved to the next girl. "Miss...?" I said.

The girl stood, black hair, black eyes, white, white, pale-white skin, and even skinnier than Sally, almost a malnourished runt of a girl. "Miss," she said, "my name is Helena Rosenzweig. I am sixteen years of age."

She said her name like _'Heleena.'_

The class was stoney in its silence. No one looked at her.

It was if she wasn't there.

"Thank you ..." I said, "Heleena."

I tried to say her name as I heard it, but it came out of my mouth in the King's English we spoke in Boston.

Helena looked confused when I said her name, but she sat right back down.

"Well," I said, slightly nonplussed. _Two for two,_ I thought ruefully, but then I shrugged internally. It couldn't get any worse, could it?

"And..." I said, waving to the boy sitting beside her.

He stood, and introduced himself. The rest of the introductions went without indecent, or, more properly, censure from me ... some of the younger children were very shy, and it was like pulling teeth for them to stand, to speak above a mumble or even to make eye contact.

... Actually, I didn't think any of the children had much presence to them, nor poise. They were simple people of the land, and I didn't see any of them going to Boston College to engage in debates in transcendentalism.

But, on the whole, they looked like good children. Hard, and hard working. I smiled at them all.

"Well," I said. "Shall we begin, then? You, Liesl," I indicated the youngest girl in the front row, "please lead us in the prayer to commence our day, and you, Kurt," I nodded to the young boy beside her, "please lead the class in the Pledge of Allegiance."

Ever since the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago in the year '93, the Pledge had taken off in our still-growing Country like wildfire. It was new-fangled, but austere and very patriotic.

I was proud to instill devotion for learning, devotion to God, and to our Country into these children. After all, they were our Nation's future.

And we began our first school day together.

...

It was the end of the school day, and we were all tired.

I was _bone-_tired. I had never stood up in front of a group of people, even if they were children, for six hours with one little break for lunch, at which time I ate nothing — _could _eat nothing — I had a bad case of the butterflies as I reviewed the lessons I would be presenting for the afternoon, _and_ I had to keep an eagle eye on the children as they ate their lunches packed from home.

Sally and Helena ate nothing, I observed, although they tried to hide this fact by burying their noses in their textbooks, pretending to be very studious.

The farmers' children ate plain, simple foods, bread and cheese. One child, more refined looking, had a jar of sliced peaches in syrup for her dessert. She got envious looks, which she ignored.

But the rest of the day followed without a hitch, and I felt myself falling into my role with a relieved, contented air.

This was teaching? This was _easy!_ This was _fun_ for me! A delight!

The children weren't exceptional, as I suspected, some of the littler ones where a little too enthusiastic in asking too many questions that strayed from the subject matter, and some of the older students were a little too sullen in their silence, as if they couldn't wait for the lessons to conclude so they could get back to real work, farming, and not this stupid and boring schooling.

Or that was my read of their indifference. I could be wrong. These mid-Westerners were of a very different nature to the very assertive people I knew Back East. Their stolid silence could be just their way.

I just need to remember to pack a thermos of soup for lunch tomorrow and perhaps a jar of some liquid, tea, perhaps, because my throat was sore, and I had to struggle not to show hoarseness as the day came to an end.

"So, class," I said, "for your schoolwork due the morrow ..."

The entire class groaned.

I turned from the chalkboard and gave the class a cautioning glare.

Everybody was mum.

"For your schoolwork," I reiterated, "due on the morrow," I added, "the younger children are to copy out your ABCs both capital _and _lower case ..."

The eyes of youngest girl in the front grew big and round.

"And," I continued, "the older children are to do their multiplication tables; we'll start with the sevens for this assignment."

A couple of the older children blanched.

"Understood?" I said.

A boy in the middle of the class raised his hand.

"Yes ..." I said, forgetting the boy's name.

"Miss," he said.

"I'm sorry," I said, "your name again, please, and stand up, young man."

He stood quickly, blushing. "Miss, I'm Anders. I ... uh ..." He hesitated.

I waited.

"I'm ..." he said, "I'm not good with my figurin'."

I grimaced at his country accent.

"Anders," I said. "And, actually, this is for all of you. The assignment isn't to be something graded against you, but to see the proficiency of the class, as a whole. Write out the table, and work on every one, answer as well as you can, understood?"

Anders said, "Yes, miss."

I smiled warmly to the whole class, paused for a second, then said: "Class dismissed."

The entire room whooped and exited _en masse. _You would think, from their reaction, I had just declared there were free candies for all of them at the five and dime.

In the mass exodus, Anders, blushing still, dropped an apple on my desk and tried to make a quick escape.

"Anders," I said. He froze, the bigger kids pushed past him. "What is your Christian name?"

He blushed harder. "Anders, Miss. That is my Christian name."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "And your family name?"

"Miller, miss," he said.

I looked down at my seating chart. Yes, there he was.

But, no: wait. "Isn't your last name 'Meuller,' young man?" I looked up at the lad.

He blushed harder. "Yes, Miss," he said, and then looked away, "it's pronounced 'Miller.'"

"Ah," I said. "Quite." I made a quick notation by his name, a little marked '(i)' to remind myself of the pronunciation. So many German children, or, more correctly, American children of German descent. So different from the so many Irish back home in Boston, but that's why I came out here in the first place: to be different and surrounded by something new and different. I was. I would just have to get used to the people here, the way they spoke and their ways, and revel in it, not be put off by it.

"Thank you for the apple," I said smiling nicely at the boy, then commanded sternly: "Work hard on your assignment."

"Yes, miss," he said, still blushing. He wouldn't make eye-contact.

I don't think he could have run faster than he did to leave the school house.

I sighed.

You get warned about such things. Children ... _'crush'_ on their teachers, sometimes.

Nothing to do about it. One simply had to ignore it, present the lessons, and wait for them to mature beyond their devoted affection.

Best for everybody that way. Calling attention to it only embarrassed all parties and exposed the child to ridicule from his peers.

"Thank you for the lesson today, Miss Caroline."

Sally stared down at me, coolly. Helena by her side, looking down. Both were in simple frocks.

I noticed that Sally, now standing, wasn't ... tall, _per se. _But she did stand a head taller than her companion, and she looked to be, perhaps, five and a half feet, so perhaps a bit, or more than a bit, taller than me, too.

That annoyed me, as well. Taller people tended to be dismissive of me, and I didn't want this to be another point of contention, that she thought she was my better simply because of her height, and my lack.

After all, I was the adult. I was the figure of authority here, not her.

"You're welcome, Sally," I responded politely.

If she were going to be polite, I could respond in kind, and ignore the rebellious undertone.

I could show her I didn't need to descend to pettiness.

Sally glared at the apple on my desk for a second, made to say something, but turned, abruptly, to Helena and almost snarled. "C'mon, Leena, let's go."

The both exited the school house, backs stiffly straight, but Sally's angry, sullen or bitter, and Helena's cowed, resigned, or sad, I couldn't tell which.

I sighed, gathering my lesson plans, then picked up the apple, taking a large bite out of it with gusto. I was _famished!_

And the apple was sweet, tangy-tart, and o-so-juicy!

I returned to my flat at the boarding house.

The county provided me room and board. Hot supper tonight after my first day of schooling these children: I almost salivated in anticipation.

Then bed! I was _exhausted_ from not the lessons, so much, but standing out in front of the students, being correct and proper the entire day.

I'd wake early on the morrow to review the lesson plans for that day. As tomorrow would be a continuation of today, and I flattered myself that I did really well teaching today, I felt confident already about tomorrow, and, well, about my entire new life out here.

I was a _teacher_ now!

* * *

**A/N:** New story! From _moi-self!_ (that is French) (no, it's not) with, _gasp! _all original characters! I can safely say, "I own all the characters in this story," 'cause that's how I'm rollin' here! Wowzers! ... This is just another shy and quiet story, a Western, from this shy and quiet authoresse. Nothing will happen in it. Nothing at all. La-di-dah.


	2. Day 2: Yekke, A lesson for Miss Caroline

**Chapter summary:** But I came here to teach. I came here to better my students. How can I just leave this alone? How can I improve something I have to ignore? Why am I even here if I am to do nothing about this?

**Fair warning:** As in _Leena for my own,_this story is historical fiction and represents racism and prejudice accurately for the times, that is: openly prevalent and accepted as 'the way things are.' Please do not read if you cannot stomach blatant intolerance.

* * *

I woke, very early, excited to be starting a new day, the second day of me teaching school.

I rolled out of bed in my night slip and hit my knees and folded my hands in prayer.

"Dear LORD," I prayed. "Please let me a good teacher to the students. Let them learn their lessons and be better people for it. Please bless this work I've undertaken, and make it fruitful and pleasing to Your sight."

I thought for a second.

"Please, LORD," I added, "please soften Sally's hardness of heart, and heal whatever hurts she holds against me. Please make her to see that I am not her enemy, that I am trying to help her, as I am trying to help all the children. She doesn't need to fight me, LORD. Please make her see that."

I paused again.

My father was a Presbyterian minister back in Boston, and on time he did a meditation of Jesus' command to "Love your enemies."

His sermon: "Love your enemies: after all, you made them."

Father had said God created us all, and we were all his children, and a child has no enemies when they're born, they only need to be loved and cared for, and that is why Jesus told us that "Unless ye become one of these, ye shall not enter the kingdom of Heaven." He said that the only way you had an enemy is because it's something you said or something that you did to make them your enemy, for, after all, before they knew you, they did not hate you: you caused this hate, not them.

I could not see, reflecting on my day yesterday, one single thing I did to make this girl my enemy. I only expected respect in my classroom, just as any teacher would.

This could not be my fault, at all. Perhaps Sally was battling something much bigger in her heart. Perhaps she had no respect for any authority. Perhaps she had been betrayed in her trust of authority, and therefor gave neither trust nor respect to anyone.

The West did have slogans like "Show me." They didn't take you at your word, you simply had to prove yourself, over and over again until you won their grudging respect.

But I didn't have to do that with the other children. Why was Sally being intentionally difficult?

Was it me? I saw no way it could be me. But I'm not God, here. God is.

I sighed.

"Dear LORD, and, please, if it's something I said or did, please mend my ways. Please make me like the Apostle Paul, that I may become everything to everybody so that some may be saved. Please make me Your instrument so Sally may ..."

May what?

I had no idea. Be happy? I couldn't imagine that child smiling, and that was a sad, sad statement, that I had known this girl less than a day, and I could only see her as angry and bitter, and I didn't know why.

"... so that Sally may be saved." I concluded weakly.

I rose from the side of the bed.

I knew I had copped out in my prayer. I knew God knew it, better than I.

But I knew ... there was a groaning in me where I could not express the words, and I hoped the Holy Ghost would take my weak words to Heaven and make my prayer pleasing and acceptable to God, even as I, in my human frailty, could not.

I gathered my things, stopped downstairs for a thermos of chicken broth, and headed off to the school house.

...

Prayer, then Pledge. A classroom-full of freshly washed faces looking up to me in rapt attention.

This is how it's supposed to be. This was my vocation, helping these children learn and grow to be smart, strong, independent farmers and homesteaders: the face and the promise of America, growing out, organically, into the country that was rightly ours to take.

I smiled at them all, warmly.

"Today, children," I said, "we will be studying our great American history. But first, let's review your homework. Liesl, Kurt," I indicated the two young children in the front row, "please go to the chalkboard and write out your ABC's. Liesl, you write A through M; Kurt, you take the rest."

The two children scurried past me to the chalkboard.

I heard the young children start their work behind me on the chalkboard.

"Now," I said, "for the rest of the class, after Liesl and Kurt are done, each of you will come up in turn and write out a multiple of seven, okay?"

The class groaned. The boy, Anders, raised his hand.

"Yes, Anders?" I said, please with myself that I was getting the children's names. Of course, he had distinguished himself to me, but I'm sure the other names would come quickly.

"Uh, miss ..." he began hesitantly.

"Please stand," I said crisply.

I guessed the people out here were used to a much more informal environment, interacting with their elders. That's something that would change for them, them being my students now.

Anders rose quickly, blushing.

"Miss," he said, "but what if our answer isn't right?"

"Well," I said, "that's why we're working them here up on the board this morning. If you don't have the correct answer, we'll work on it at the board until you do have it right."

"In front of everyone?" he squeaked.

I smiled at him. "Yes, Anders," I said kindly, "in front of everyone."

If he had applied himself, his time at the board would be short and sweet. If he hadn't ...

I just considered it an incentive for the students to apply themselves to their work.

The entire class groaned. I was torn between smirking at their discomfort or giving them the eye for their unruliness.

I let it pass, choosing to pretend to ignore it, and turned to look at the copy-work Liesl and Kurt were doing. They did pretty well, of course: I was blessed to be teaching bright children, it appeared. I was complimenting their work when I heard something.

It was whispering and chalk on slate.

I turned quickly. "Anders, ..." I began.

Anders sat there, white-faced. "Yes, miss?" he asked confused.

_Hm,_ I thought. It wasn't him, as I suspected, trying to correct his work.

"Never mind," I said, nonplussed myself.

I turned back to Liesl and Kurt.

"Good work, children," I said.

They glowed.

"Now, erase your work and sit down," I told them.

They obeyed.

I turned back quickly. I didn't hear something, but teachers have this sense, don't they? They know everything that every child is doing in her classroom, because she has eyes in the back of her head.

Being a teacher, for my second day now, I knew why.

I looked across the classroom, and saw just one little irregularity.

"Sally," I called.

Sally froze. She was leaning, just every so slightly, out of her chair toward her friend, Helena. Heleena. Whatever.

"Do you have something to share with the class?" I demanded.

Sally blinked in surprise. "No, miss," she said in clipped tones.

Liesl and Kurt scurried past me again to their seats, their task done.

I was in motion toward Sally, her face getting whiter and whiter.

"Class," I addressed the whole room. "You are here to learn, not to have conversations with your friends. You may do that during your meal break or after school, but now is not the time for indulgence. Now, Sally," I said, addressing her, "what were you just doing?"

Sally had her arm, casually, across her slate.

"Nothing, miss," she mumbled sullenly.

I was now genuinely angry. What did she take me for, a simpleton? _'Nothing,'_ eh? Was she passing notes to her friend? How obvious could she be? But I reigned in my temper with a very tight control, projecting outward calm.

"Sally," I said, "stand up, please."

She rose, reluctantly. Her slate was now fully exposed to me, so I could see whatever she was writing to her friend. Was she writing a note: 'school is boring. teacher is boring'? How did children, in their youth, think they could outsmart their elders?

I looked down at the slate.

I didn't understand.

I did a double-take.

I picked up her slate, looking at the very few scribbles on its front side. On it was written:

7 x 1 = _

7 x 2 =

That was all that was written, and the second line was heavily smudged with the chalk sliding down and across the slate. The girl had obviously fallen asleep, doing her lesson, but ...

I flipped the slate over. The backside was completely clean. A blank slate.

I looked back at Sally. She looked back at me with hard, unrepentant eyes.

"Sally, ..." I began and stopped.

"Yes, miss?" she had the gall to say.

I put her slate down on her desk.

"Class," I said, "everyone, slates out on your desks."

The children obeyed quickly, but looking at me with confusion.

I went from desk to desk, every child had done what they were supposed to do, each slate had the multiples of seven on their slate, from one to twelve, just as they were supposed to, except the little children who had written out their alphabets. Just as I told them.

Helena had done her assignment, too. In fact, hers was perfect and correct, unlike most of the other children who had made an occasional mistake, particularly for the larger multiples. Not Helena's work, however.

Sally was the only one who hadn't even attempted her assignment.

I came back and stood in front of Sally.

"Sally," I said, "where's your assignment?"

She wouldn't answer.

"Sally," I said, "why didn't you do your assignment?"

She looked away.

"Sally," the calm of my voice started to break, "I asked you a question. Every other child did their assignment. Why didn't you?"

Sally's jaw worked. I heard her teeth grind.

"I have no excuse, miss," she whispered.

I looked right at her. She didn't do her assignment, and she had no excuse?

_How. Dare. She!_

"Sally," I said, grabbing her arm, "come with me."

I picked up her slate from her desk and pulled her in front of the class.

I swept my materials to the side of the desk and shoved Sally down on the bare spot, thrusting her slate into her hands, her unfinished work out and visible to the rest of the class.

Somebody snickered softy.

I turned on the class, furious. "Anybody else want to join her?" I snarled.

Everybody was white-faced at that. You could have heard a pin drop as I glared out at them.

Little Liesl started to cry, actually; her lower lip was quivering as she tried to hold in her sobs.

"You," I said, trying not to shout, "all of you, are here to learn! To do that you are come to class, sit, learn, and do your lessons. Is that too much of me to ask of you? No, it isn't! But some of you," I didn't turn back to look back at Sally. I didn't have to. "... think you're too good to listen and to obey. _Some_ of you think you can get away with your rebellious behavior. Maybe before you could, but not anymore. You come, you learn, you do your lessons, I teach you and we have no problems. But, you ..."

I had to catch my breath. I had to calm myself. If I were attempting to put the fear of Caroline Smith in these school children, well, I was succeeding. Perhaps I was succeeding too well.

I breathed for a couple of seconds.

"But if you," I stated more calmly, "don't wish to be attentive and do what you're told, then you'll get punished. And if the punishment doesn't correct your errant behavior, then you are out of my class until you do get some discipline, and you and I will go to your parents where you can explain why you're not going to school that day. Do you understand me, class?"

"Yes, miss," they all said in unison, fearfully.

I glowered at them. "I have a name. It's 'Miss Caroline.' Understand, class?"

"Yes, Miss Caroline," they said meekly.

I glared at them. Little Liesl was openly crying into her hanky now.

I turned back to Sally, sitting sullenly on my desk.

"Sally," I said quietly. "This is _not_ a punishment. Don't make me go there. This is you being made an example of for the whole class. An example they don't need. _They_ did their assignment. _You_ didn't, and the appalling thing is that you have _no _excuse, _none whatsoever,_ for failing to do what I told you to do. How can we, as a class, move forward when you're stuck on the very first assignment, huh? By you not doing your work, you not only shamed yourself and failed me, but you let down every, single student in this classroom."

I glared hard at me. "Do you understand me, Sally?"

"Yes, Miss Caroline," she said.

I didn't like her attitude. She could have at least looked repentant, but there was nothing there on her face. Nothing at all.

I wasn't here to teach repentance, however. I demanded obedience; Sally was being obedient, now.

I was so tempted to punish her rebellious attitude, but I had to watch myself. It's so easy to cross the line from being a teacher to becoming a tyrant in a classroom. That was a line I didn't want to cross.

But I could feel it would be so easy for me to do, and right now.

I forcibly turned from her.

"Now," I said forcefully, addressing the class.

I paused. "Liesl, collect yourself, please."

The little girl shuddered. "Y-y-y-yes, missss," she sniffled.

Then she burst into tears. Again.

I sighed.

A teener raised her hand. "Yes?" I demanded, annoyed.

"Miss Caroline, may I?" she rose and asked politely.

"May you ... what?" I demanded. "And, your name, please?"

"Miss," she said, "My name is Marta Trapp. I'm Liesl's sister. May I take her to the back of the classroom, please, miss, to calm her? Liesl is the littlest and gets this way sometimes."

I looked at Marta, weighing her request.

College didn't prepare us for these situations when we were being taught to be teachers. We were taught our history and mathematics and science, and we were allowed to observe the classrooms as student-teachers, but I had never had a breakdown in discipline this egregious in a classroom that I observed. I had never seen a student not do her work. I had never seen a child break down and cry in the classroom. I didn't know what to do here.

I waved to the teener. "Yes," I said exasperated, "please ... do what you must."

Marta went to her little sister, kneeling down by her at her desk. "C'mon, Liesl, c'mon with me, huh?"

Liesl looked at me, her eyes filled with fear.

I hated her look. I hated that I was the big, bad teacher and that I had managed to scare a little girl out of her wits.

That's what I was to this child: a monster, and I hated that. My heart hardened, right then, and burned with an icy flame of anger.

Liesl got up quickly and threw herself into her sister's arms. Marta caught her up and carried her to the back of the classroom, cooing to her. Liesl buried her head into her sister's chest, her whole body shaking with sobs.

"Class," I said, after that little disturbance was removed from the front of the classroom.

Liesl sobbed loudly.

I just barely stopped myself from stamping my foot.

"Marta!" I barked, then I collected myself quickly.

"Marta," I said more calmly, "please take your sister outside. You both may return when she has composed herself."

"Yes, Miss Caroline," Marta said quietly and carried her little sister out of the classroom.

I waited for them to be gone.

I shook my head. Day two, and we had an utter breakdown in discipline. My review with the Principal was just going to be _lovely,_ wasn't it?

I actually had to collect myself.

The whole time, I felt Sally's silent presence behind me. I felt her watching me, judging me.

I could just feel her censure: _rube!_ I felt her thoughts accusing me.

And how could she judge me, when _she_ was the one who precipitated this incident. This was _her_ fault!

Why was it, that I felt _I_ was the one to blame? Why did I feel her censure was justified?

I took two calming breaths.

"Class," I said calmly, "let us return to the lesson. We have your assignment to review and we have today's lesson, and we have already unnecessarily wasted time when we don't have time to spare. I expect you to come here to learn, just as I came here to teach, so I _do not_ expect our days to proceed in this ..." I cast about an appropriate word, _"undisciplined_ manner. So. Now. Let's try this again. You." I pointed to the boy next to Kurt. "You start us off, write from your slate seven once and its answer, and we will proceed, in turn, from student to student, understood, class?"

"Yes, Miss Caroline," the class responded obediently.

The looks on their faces were no longer bored. Their faces now had the look of caution, like, whatever expectation they had of me and what they could get away with with me ...? Well, I believe I had just shocked them out of their expectations. Whatever games they had played with teachers that had come before me?

They were on notice that they couldn't get away with their games with me now.

The boy passed me, giving me a wide berth. I watched him write the first multiple.

7 x 1 = 7

"Very good," I said to the boy. "Your name?"

"Peter, miss," he said.

Wow. A name I could pronounce.

"Very good, Peter," I said, "You may sit down."

He passed me.

"Next!" I barked.

Then I winced instantly. That came out too harshly. If I were going to train their minds, winning their hearts would've helped, but I was failing miserably at this.

Maybe being a teacher wasn't what I was meant to be. Maybe I could go Back East and work as an actuary for the Bank of Boston. Maybe I could go home with my tail between my legs and marry some nice, young man who'd have me and be amused at my wild-hair adventures out West and give me polite, sweet, little babies to nurture and raise one at a time.

Maybe I'd make such a terrific, little house-wife and mother, since I was doing so _wonderfully_ with these children here.

My own sarcasm filled my stomach with acid. I just hated today, and just wanted to get through it and be done with it, forever.

The next child came up and wrote:

7 x 2 = 14

I nodded, and he went back to his desk.

"Very good so far, children," I said encouragingly. "Please keep it going."

Eventually it was Ander's turn, and I watched him closely as he went up to the board.

He reached up and scrawled a tentative:

7 x 5 = 35

"Good," I said.

It looked like he nearly fainted. He returned to his desk.

The students kept going up to the board, then Helena got up.

"Wait," I said.

Helena stood by her desk, uncertain of what she was supposed to do.

While I had watched each child do their multiple, I had also watched Sally. Instead of sulking, she was actually paying attention, watching the work on the board herself.

"Sally," I said, "it's your turn."

She blinked at me in surprise, but then she put her slate down and went to the board. She wrote:

7 x 9 =

But then she paused, the chalk wavering. I saw her glance at the previous problem.

"Sally," I said, "your answer, please."

The chalk stayed by her problem, but then I saw the fingers of her other hand.

"Sally," I said incredulously, "are you counting out the answer on your fingers?"

Her back stiffened, but she didn't answer, her hand just stayed by the problem.

"Sally, sit back here," I said, indicating my desk.

She returned to her place of shame.

I picked up the yardstick. Several students gasped. Sally didn't even flinch.

"Class," I said coolly, "this is something every single one of you have to know. You just have to know this. You have to have your multiplication tables memorized. You cannot be counting on your fingers. This is fundamental! So, we, as a class are going to recite this set until you all know it. I will say it once, and you repeat after me."

I recited my sevens, pointing to each number on the chalkboard with my yard stick as I said them. "Seven," I said, then I raced through the numbers that I knew by heart. "14. 21. 28. 35. 42. 49. 56." My yardstick stilled, there were no more numbers on the board, but I, of course, didn't need them. I was the teacher. I knew everything. "63. 70. 77. 84. Class, say it with me now."

We did it. Some of the children hesitated. Some of the children looked up at the chalk board behind me.

"Anders," I called. "Please erase the chalkboard."

"Yes, miss," Anders said and hopped right up, running to the board.

"Class," I said, "again."

Some more of the children had more trouble now that answers weren't there in front of them anymore.

"Class," I said, "listen to me one more time. Memorize the numbers. We will do this until it comes naturally off your tongues. Now," I said, and I repeated the sevens.

"Now, class, with me."

We repeated the sevens.

"Again." I said.

Then: "Again," I said. "Again," I said. "Again," I said.

Some of the children looked shell-shocked.

But they were repeating the numbers now.

I turned back to Sally. "Sally," I said, "go up to the board and write the ninth seven, please."

She blanched, went up to the board, wrote

7 x 9 =

again. And paused again.

"Sally," I said.

Her whole body was tense.

"Sally, turn and face me, please," I said.

She put the chalk down and did as she was told.

"The sevens, please," I said. "Recite the sevens for the class."

Sally nodded sadly. "Yes, miss," she said, "7. 14 ... 28 ..." she paused. "27, I mean, 28 ..."

"Sally," I interrupted her. "You missed seven thrice. What is seven thrice?"

Sally took a deep breath. "Miss," she said, "seven thrice is ..."

She looked away.

"Sally?" I said.

I just couldn't believe it. What was her problem? Seven once, seven twice ... she knew those. She had demonstrated that. Seven thrice was just seven more than seven twice. How could she not know that? We had just recited this over and over.

"I'm ..." Sally whispered, then said sadly. "Miss, I'm just a girl. I ain't good with no figurin'."

_"What?"_ I shouted, shocked. "What did you just say?"

Sally shrugged sadly. "I'm sorry, Miss, I just ain't ... smart in that way. I'm just a girl, I just ain't ..."

"Sally," I glared at her, hard, "stop. Stop this nonsense right now. I will not allow this kind of talk in my classroom. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, miss," she said.

"Class," I said, "I will not accept this kind of talk from any of you. Math is not hard, and being a boy or a girl has nothing to do with it. Math is _essential_ for you as an adult. How else can you do your jobs, exchange in commerce, proportion your ..." I shrugged helplessly, "your fields? And being a girl? Some of the best mathematicians in the _world_ are women, we have an astronomer right now who has translated the arctangent tables, and do you know what that has done for us?"

The class looked at me blankly. I may as well have been speaking Greek at them.

I sighed. "It allows sailors at sea to determine their exact position. Without these tables, any kind of maritime endeavor out of sight of land would be reduced to guesswork! And who composed these tables? A woman. Who has advanced and standardized mathematics across the ages? Women," then I amended quickly, "both men and women, children. You may have a talent for whatever you choose, but this is basic, foundational work, do you understand me? You cannot 'fake' your way past not knowing this. You need to be able to read and to write and to know your arithmetic, otherwise you run the very real risk of being overrun by the rest of the world for your illiteracy."

I looked to them in exasperation. "Do you understand me, class?"

"Yes, miss," some said. Others said, "Yes, Miss Caroline."

I couldn't tell if they understood, or if they were just saying 'yes,' being obedient automatons.

I sighed.

"Sally," I said, turning back to her. "Write all the sevens on the board now, please."

Sally: "Yes, miss."

She went up to the board and wrote:

7 x 1 = 7

"Sally," I said, "That's good, but just write the numbers, please."

Sally nodded, then wrote, 14.

Then she paused.

"Sally," I said, "put the chalk down."

She did and turned to me, utterly humiliated.

"Sally," I said. "Please listen to me."

I recited the sevens to her.

"Do you have it now, Sally?" I asked.

"Yes, miss," she said.

"Do you have it so that you can write it on the board without hesitation?" I pressed.

Sally looked away.

I shut my eyes for a second.

What was I going to do with this child? I wondered.

I turned back to the class. "Who can help her? Who can write their sevens straight off?"

I glanced around the classroom.

Nobody would look back at me, even though I tried to catch their eye. Anders was looking down at his slate, blushing. I felt disappointment at that.

Would nobody apply themselves?

Then I remember, one person did.

"Helena," I called.

Helena was staring down at her desk. She shuddered at the sound of her name, but she didn't look up.

"Helena," I said, "please come up to the board and write out the sevens."

She still wouldn't look up. She was shaking her head, looking terrified.

"Now, Helena," I commanded.

At that, she dragged herself up from her desk and hung her head, approaching the chalkboard like a man approached the gallows.

Then she wrote the numbers, all of them, quickly, efficiently, without one mistake.

7. 14. 21. 28. 35. 42. 49. 56. 63. 70. 77. 84.

She put the chalk down.

"Very good, Helena," I said. "Finally, we have ..."

_"Yekke," _I heard whispered, very, very softly from somewhere toward the back of the class.

I turned.

"What was that?" I demanded.

Stony faces was all that I saw staring back at me.

"Does somebody have something to say to the class?" I demanded.

Nobody said a word.

"Helena," I said, still staring at the class, "you may return to your seat."

I looked at the wall-clock behind me.

It read four minutes past noon.

Lunch-time, already? And we hadn't even begun today's lessons. I was just so tempted to have the students miss their lunch. This day had gone terribly, and I wanted them to feel the brunt of my displeasure.

I scowled at the wall-clock.

At twenty-four, day two of teaching out here in South Dakota, I felt old already.

Old and ugly. Ugly with my ill-temper. Ugly with my sour puss.

I turned to the class, and sighed, inside, and just gave up.

"Class," I said. "Time for lunch."

Nobody moved from their chairs.

"Sally," I said, addressing the girl on my desk, "from now on, before you step into this classroom, you make sure your assignments are completed." I frowned at her. "You may return to your seat now."

"Yes, Miss Caroline," she said quietly, and sat down next to Helena.

I looked about me, then remember Liesl and Marta.

"Well, children," I said, impatiently, "eat your lunches now, we have a full day still to go."

I turned and exited the school room.

Marta and Liesl were on the front steps. Liesl shrunk further into her sister the closer I came to them. I looked to Marta.

"Is she..." I began. "Has she collected herself?"

Marta looked to me, trying to convey the helplessness of her situation to calm her sister.

I wished I could convey to her the exact same feeling, the utter failure, the complete pandemonium that was this morning's session in class.

I didn't.

Marta looked down at her sister.

"Liesl," she said, "okay now? Are you okay, sweetie? Are you doing better?"

Liesl nodded ever-so-slightly in her sisters bosom.

"Do you want to go back into the school room?" Marta asked.

Liesl looked at me and buried her head into her sister's chest.

I sighed, exasperated. What was I? Some scary monster with fangs?

I felt affronted by Liesl's fear. What had I done to deserve this? But giving into my anger wouldn't help anymore. I saw that now. I collected myself and knelt down by the girls.

"Liesl," I whispered gently, "it's okay. You can go back into the class room. It's lunch break now, so you can have your lunch and talk with your friends. I was angry before, but I wasn't angry at you. You did your lesson. You don't need to be afraid of me."

Liesl didn't react.

I looked to Marta.

"Liesl?" Marta said. "C'mon. C'mon, let's go back inside. You don't want Ma and Pa to hear you missed school today, do you?"

Liesl shook her head.

"Let's go then," Marta said.

"Hold my hand?" Liesl asked to Marta's chest.

Marta smiled. A victory. "Yeah," she said.

She stood, putting Liesl down, and they walked, hand in hand, back into the classroom.

I leaned up against the wall of the building and blew out a big sigh of pent-up frustration. Schooling children was much, much harder than I had anticipated. I had thought all I had to do was present the lessons and grade their assignments. I didn't expect I'd have to deal with all this ... childish behavior: not doing lessons, crying in the classroom, being shy and ashamed and afraid and sullen, and all these behaviors accomplished what, precisely?

Back East it was much simpler. People were direct: they told you, to your face what their views were, and if you didn't like that, then you could argue back, loudly, or just live with it. That's the way it was back home.

Here, all this silence and sullenness and emotion? I just didn't know how to deal with this unexpected onslaught.

I went back into the classroom, dispirited. The air in the classroom was muted; the children were eating their lunches, but they were watching me with caution out of the corners of their eyes.

As if I were some powderkeg, ready to explode at the slightest disturbance. I _tsk_ed to myself, stung that that was probably a very accurate discription.

But two children, in the back, were not eating. Just as yesterday, they were pretending to study.

"Sally, Helena," I called softly, "please come outside. I'd like to talk to you two."

Stony silence followed them as they preceeded me out of the classroom. Normally you'd expect the other children to tease two girls called out to talk with their teacher. You'd expect cat-calls of _'Ooh, trouble!'_ or some such.

Nothing followed them.

I grabbed my thermos and regarded the class.

Should I say something to them? Should I tell them to be good and eat their lunches?

No. I had done enough damage today.

I grimaced. _More than enough._

I left the classroom.

Sally and Helena awaited me outside the classroom. The October air had a bite of the Winter to come. Helena's eyes were downcast, and she shivered slightly, and not from the cold. She was the elder, but it looked like Sally, one foot place in front of Helena, acted as the protectress, and in Sally's clear eyes there was no fear. In fact, she carried a perpetually defiant air.

Having no excuses for not doing her schoolwork? Back East a child would've been severely corrected for such obduracy, and, if found to be incorrigible, would've have been drummed out of school to find their own way on the streets where they belonged.

I had no idea how they would tolerate such behavior out here.

But I wasn't here to fight either of them.

I extended the thermos to them.

"Here," I said, "I brought in some chicken broth for my lunch today, but I find I'm not hungry."

I frowned. That was the truth. This morning had entirely soured my whole disposition, and my stomach was all butterflies and bile. Hunger was a remote concept to me; something far, far away. If I tried to drink this broth now, it'd just come right back up, and wouldn't that present a lovely picture for the children now?

Sally's features softened slightly into disbelief, and she blinked twice before tentatively accepting the thermos. Helena looked up to us; her look was incredulous.

"Your parents don't prepare a lunch for you?" I asked.

Helena gasped and turned pale, looking to Sally.

Sally didn't even blink.

"No, ma'am," she said. Then explained tiredly: "Hard times," with a dismissive shrug.

Helena almost jerked, and it looked like she wanted to say something, her body fit to bursting. But she remained silent.

I grimaced. _Hard times, indeed,_ I thought. Hard times for our Country, and this, here, itself was hard country with hard-scrabbling people.

Everything was just so ... hard. And I suppose I had anticipated this, but the immediacy, the reality, of it hit me hard, right to my gut, in a way I couldn't have prepared myself for, even though I though I had done just that.

There was what I thought I was ready for, and then there was this reality.

The reality of this West was just ... too much for me.

Sally opened the thermos and pour out a cupful, offering it to Helena.

"Here," she said simply.

That simple act looked like it crushed Helena. I didn't know why. Was she unused to charity at home?

She took a small sip. "It's good," she said, looking up. "Thank you, miss."

I smiled to her. Well, at least Helena was polite. "Well, go ahead," I prompted.

Helena bit her lip and took another parsimonious sip, like even the littlest breath of soup was more than what she was used to.

She simpered.

"It's good, isn't it?" I said, encouragingly, warming to the girl.

"Yes, miss," she said, then added, "with some matzo balls it'd be perfect ..." Then she turned pale and quickly blurted out: "But it's very good, yes, miss; thank you!" and took another sip to cover over her embarrassment.

I wondered what _'mahzah balls' _were. I never heard of them.

Sally chuckled at the girl, and I kept having to revise in my mind that she wasn't the older sister to Helena, even though she acted very much like it.

"Are you two related?" I asked Sally.

Helena swallowed a big gulp and had an attack of coughs, sputtering soup, looking shocked, but Sally's look was thoughtful.

"No, miss," Sally said. "Why would you say that?"

I wondered if I had transgressed.

"Well," I explained, "you look after Helena, it seems. I know you don't have the same last name, but I was wondering ... cousins, perhaps?"

Helena looked to Sally with big, round eyes. Sally just shook her head.

"No, miss," she said simply, and didn't offer any further explanation.

"Oh," I said.

Helena passed Sally the empty cup. Sally filled it from the thermos and emptied it in three quick gulps.

"Helena, ..." I said. "I heard somebody say something while you were at the board. What did they call you?"

Helena turned white again and wouldn't look at me.

It was Sally who spoke up. "Miss, may I say something?"

She looked at me hard.

"What is it, Sally?" I said. I took her look and returned it, strength for strength.

Sally paused, considering, then she said firmly: "Don't call on Helena again."

That was all she said.

"I don't ..." I said.

Who was she to tell me what I should or shouldn't do in my classroom? That's all I could think, but she was saying this for a reason, that much was obvious. I just didn't see her reason, and she wasn't giving it to me.

"I don't understand, Sally," I said finally. "Why would you say this to me?"

Sally sighed in disappointment. "Miss, Helena is a Jew. She knows all that ... _stuff."_ Here Sally waved dismissively, weighing my lessons as that: _stuff._ "But you call attention to that, that she knows and other people don't? You are putting her life on the line, do you understand me, miss?"

I stood there, shocked, disbelief probably plainly on my face. "You have got to be kidding me, Sally. This is the Twentieth Century!"

Sally just shook her head. "What do the times have to do with anything? You call attention to Helena, she gets talked about, and if she gets talked about ..."

Sally left that hanging.

"But this is ridiculous!" I exclaimed. "Who would do such a thing! This is America! What? Are you saying somebody would hurt her just because she's Jewish? How could you imply that?"

"Because it happened."

It wasn't Sally who said that.

Helena whispered that, very, very quietly.

I looked to Helena, but now she was almost completely behind Sally, as if Sally could protect her, or ... it were as if she were trying to shrink down to nothing, so nobody could see her.

"Who hurt you, Helena?" I demanded.

She wouldn't look at me.

Sally seemed to grow bigger, growing around Helena. "Miss, nobody, okay? Nobody."

"But she said ..." I began angrily.

"My parents," Helena whispered.

"What happened to your parents?" I demanded.

I felt my face getting hotter and hotter. I was furious. Why should a child live in fear because she's Jewish? This was an injustice!

Sally interposed. "Miss, she ain't got no parents no more, you understand? They were Jews, they got noticed and ... you call attention to Helena and that will happen to her. Don't call on her no more, miss. Please?"

"Who did this to her parents?" I demanded.

"God!" Sally exclaimed. "You just don't get it, miss, do you? Nobody did. Everybody did. Don't matter. That's just how it is out here, understand? This ain't no ... I don't know, some polite society where you teach math and everybody's genteel with each other and stuff, this is ... this is ..."

Sally sighed angrily. "You just don't get it, do you?" she whispered petulantly.

I put my arms down, somehow I had crossed them tightly over my body, listening to Sally's outburst. I took a deep, calming breath.

I expected 'hard.'

I didn't expect this.

Wasn't this America?

"Oh, I hear you, Sally," I said. "Just ... isn't there ... this is the frontier, to be sure, but it isn't a Godless society. There are laws! You can't just ..." I was at a loss for words, "do that with impunity! Surely the sheriff ..."

Sally stomped her foot. "This is what'd happen if you went to our sheriff, Miss Caroline. He'd raise a stink, and start asking questions, 'cause you'd badger him into doing that, because 'there are laws,' right, miss? And those questions would do what, besides stir up more trouble than pokin' at a hornets' nest with a stick? This ain't what's right, this is how it is! And it ain't news, miss, 'cept to you, ya unnerstan'?"

I looked to Helena again. She nodded her head solemnly.

"Well, I ..." I shook my head. "Well, I never! So I just go back in there and pretend she doesn't exist? How can I do that?"

Sally ground her teeth. "'Cause if you don't ... she won't. Simply as that."

Now her arms were crossed, and Helena's face was dead serious. This wasn't some joke. This was the reality of these people.

And I had walked right into it. I had thought ...

I had thought I was coming out here to do good, and they wanted me to turn a blind eye to this injustice? This was exactly what I was called out here to do, to educate these people to be better than what they were!

I went back into the classroom, just ... stunned at this revelation, leaving Sally and Helena outside. I looked at the children finishing their lunches. They were nice, good children. How could they possibly harbor in their hearts this prejudice?

I sat at my desk, looking at them, not understanding anything in my world anymore.

The rest of the school day passed in a blur for me. I kept ... _not_ looking at Helena, sitting there, but trying to be nothing, just a small, pale child lost to herself, and the world, and what could I do about it?

Nothing, according to Sally, for if I did anything, it would only make matters worse.

I said the lessons, the students settled in. I read them a story; they looked appreciative.

The routine took over, and the day passed for me dulled and grey.

And this was how it was supposed to be?

I wondered why I was here, if I wasn't here to better things.

* * *

**A/N:** 'Yekke' is a term applied particularly to German Jews. Like the word 'Juden,' it's a slur. It means ... well, it doesn't matter what it means, does it? It's a label, and once you're labeled with something, even if it's good or bad or whatever, just try to get rid of it in the minds of the people who labeled you. And sometimes the worst labels are the ones you put on yourself.

... not that I'm speaking from experience.

As mentioned in this chapter to what happened to Helena's parents: 'nothing,' is explored in a bit more detail in the companion to this story, _Leena for my own._


	3. Day 2, Detention: Sums

**Chapter summary: **The children get to leave, complete their assignments, yes, but they don't have to think about school all that much when they are dismissed, but for the teacher ... my days and nights are starting to blur together. On day two. That's not good.

* * *

It was the end of the school day. I had given the students their work to take home. They groaned. Tough. With me as their teacher, they had better being to expect that I would assign work for them.

"Sally," I said, "please stay after."

The other students filed out quickly, as if they were afraid one of them might be called. Anders left me an apple, the dear.

Then my throat caught. Were his parents involved in what happened to Helena's?

Nothing was as it seemed on the surface.

Helena stayed in the back of the room, silent, invisible.

Sally stood by my desk. "Yes, miss?" she asked.

"You didn't do your assignment this morning, Sally," I said.

She stood there impassively.

"Go to the board and sum the first three numbers," I said.

She obeyed. She wrote:

1 + 2 + 3 = 6

She did that quickly, barely pausing.

"Now the first four," I said.

She complied. Just below what she wrote she added:

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = ...

She paused for just one second, then wrote:

10

"The first five," I said.

She looked at the board for a second, her back tightening up, but then she obeyed.

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 = ...

She looked up at the previous answer and then wrote the answer

15

on the chalkboard quickly.

"Good," I said.

_Well, at least she could add,_ I thought ruefully. At least there was that.

"So, Sally," I said, "since you didn't do your assignment this morning, you are to sum the first one-hundred numbers for me now before you are dismissed."

The room became a tableau. Sally's froze, her hand poised holding the chalk to the chalkboard.

She breathed in and out for a moment, then put the chalk down and turned to me.

"Miss Caroline," she said carefully, "that will take me all night."

"Yes, it will," I said and sat down at my desk, "so you'd better start working at it now."

"Miss ..." she said and paused.

"Yes?" I said, daring her to gainsay me.

"Miss," she said and closed her eyes for a second, then said firmly, "I can't be late, or I'll be in trouble."

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. _Precisely,_ I thought, but I said to her: "Well, Sally," my tone reasonable, "you should have thought of that when you failed to complete your assignment."

I raised my eyebrows at her significantly.

Sally just stood there, looking back at me, her face expressionless.

"Miss, you don't understand," it was a quiet voice, and it came from the back of the room.

I turned back to look at Helena. She was looking at me, her eyes pleading.

"When Sally says 'trouble,' you don't know what that means, Miss," Helena said softly.

I glared at Helena. "It seems I don't understand anything here," I said, my voice tightly controlled. "But I do understand that when I give an assignment, I expect it to be done, and that's something that Sally didn't understand that there would be consequences, but she should have."

I turned back to Sally.

"Well," I said coolly, "get started."

Sally just looked at me, unmoved.

I frowned. This was going to be a long night.

"Sally," I said, "I can stay here all night, and pick up right again on the morrow. Can you?"

I gave Sally one more significant look, then turned to my desk and opened up the lesson plan for tomorrow. So much to cover.

I felt Sally just standing there; my back tightened under her stare.

But let her just try anything, like storming out. She knew the consequences of blatant disobedience: expulsion.

If being late would get her into trouble, I'd like to see what explanation she'd come up with being expelled from school. The shame of that? A young woman who was such a trouble-maker that she was thrown out of school, that could only happen to the very worst kind of person. No one would have anything to do with her ever again, perhaps, and most likely not even her own parents.

She'd be shunned from all good society. And a young woman in the company of the dregs of society?

Sally's very future was in the balance right now, and, precocious as she tried to appear, offering _me_ advice on how to run my own classroom, she had to know this.

I felt movement from the back of the room.

"Sally," Helena said, "write the numbers for the sum."

I looked up. Sally was looking at Helena. Sally frowned, but she turned to the board, almost immediately, and began writing.

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 + 5 +

"Sally," Helena said.

Sally stopped.

Helena turned to me. "Miss, is this okay?"

She took the chalk from Sally and wrote right next to what Sally had started

... + 98 + 99 + 100 =

"Is that okay, miss?" she asked me.

I looked between Helena and the chalkboard.

"Well, yes," I said, "I see what you've done, but Sally still needs to provide the answer."

The way Helena wrote the problem on the board, I understood what she did: it was a short-hand, of sorts, saving her friend a little bit of time writing out all those numbers.

But her short-cut would just back-fire on them both. To provide the answer, Sally would have to keep adding each of the numbers. Her short-cut did nothing to help her friend. Nothing at all.

Helena nodded solemnly at me, then handed the chalk back to Sally. As she did that, she whispered something in Sally's ear.

Sally looked at Helena for a second then just shook her head.

She went to the board and wrote

5,050

and put the chalk down.

It was Helena who said quietly, "May Sally go now please, miss?"

I looked at the board, then back to the girls.

I actually didn't know if that were the correct answer. I was going to work out the sum as Sally did, supremely confident that I would be far ahead of the girl at each step along the way, even correcting her at each of her eventual missteps due to tiredness or to sloppiness.

But this...

I looked over at Helena and felt anger rising up in me. "What?" I demanded, "did you memorize that sum?"

This particular punishment wasn't all that unusal, perhaps Helena had heard of it. I couldn't imagine she had been given this particular problem for her own misbehavior, because it didn't appear possible she had it in her to step outside her own very tiny box of her world, but perhaps she worked out the sum on her own, anticipating the day she or somebody else, like Sally today, would be assigned that problem to solve.

Helena just looked away.

"One to one thousand, then," I said.

Sally eyes widened in fury, and it looked like she was about to burst out with some scathing vitriol at me.

Helena touched Sally on her shoulder and shook her head. "No, Sally," Helena whispered.

Helena picked up the chalk and wrote with a steady, sure hand:

1 + 2 + 3 + ... + 998 + 999 + 1000 = ...

She paused for one second then wrote:

500,500

then put down the chalk, facing me impassively.

_Oh. _I thought. I saw my mistake immediately. If the sum of one to one hundred were the first answer, then my following problem was just like the first one, just one order of magnitude larger.

If Helena had simply memorized the first, and if she already knew the sum to ten was ... fifty-five, and, yes, it was, I confirmed quickly summing that in my head, then it simply followed the orders of tens followed the pattern.

Clever. Very clever of the girl. But I thought of something her cleverly following a pattern wouldn't help her with.

"One to five hundred twenty-three," I ordered.

"Miss!" Sally exclaimed. "We did what ..."

Helena touched Sally lightly again, then went to the board.

Technically, Sally should have been doing this work as it was her disobedience, but now I was angry at Helena, too, for rescuing her friend.

Sally probably stood up for Helena all the time, that much was obvious. So it was little of me, spiteful, in fact, for, after all, why wouldn't Helena stand up for Sally?

But I was caught in this moment — what did I call it? — this tableau. I pushed, Helena, shy, quiet Helena, pushed back alongside her friend, so now I was angry at both of them.

A trap teachers fall into is that they get caught up in the game that they play with their students engage them in, and here I was, a teacher still wet behind her ears, caught up in a little game of proving who had the authority in the classroom.

Stupid of me. Stupid.

But here I was caught up in the game and not seeing a way to get out of the trap I had laid for Sally, and finding myself just as stymied when Helena turned the tables on me.

I was the adult, see, so I couldn't appear to be stymied. I had to be in control, and at any cost at that, so I had all the appearances of control and authority, but I had none of the actual necessary equanimity to exercise either of them.

They warned us about this. But they didn't tell us how to rise above pettiness. They just told us not to be petty, as it allows the students leading the teacher around by their own foibles.

I am ashamed to say, looking at myself now, that I am only my foibles.

Helena wrote

1 + 2 + 3 + ...

again, then

+ 521 + 522 + 523 = ...

She looked at the numbers, willing them to sum themselves.

I smirked. I had her. Her little pattern-game wouldn't work now. She'd actually have to sum the numbers, and I'd get what I wanted, a prolonged punishment for Sally for shirking her assignment.

Helena wrote some scratches on the board, her back tight, reflecting her intense concentration. Sally looked between Helena and myself, glaring fiercely, furiously, at me for punishing her friend.

I was doing no such thing. Helena could leave any time she liked. I hadn't, after all, detained her. Sally was the troublesome one; she could stay and do the sum.

"Well," I said, my tone haughty, "when you sum ..."

Helena whispered softly, desperately, "Wait. Wait, please."

She put her head to the board, closed her eyes tightly, then wrote

1046 00 +

then

312

then crossed that out and wrote

3138 0 +

then wrote

208

She looked at that number, muttered, "no," then wiped it out with the back of her hand and wrote

2092

then looked at the three numbers on the board and strung them together with plus signs, and then she summed them, leaving on the board this equation:

1046 00 + 3138 0 + 2092 = 138072

She circled that final sum, put the chalk down and faced me.

I looked at the chalkboard. I looked at Helena.

I wasn't dealing with a human being. I wasn't even dealing with an adding machine. An adding machine could sum numbers, but only one at a time. They couldn't do anything like this. I even heard there were multiplying machines now.

But this ...? This was ...

I just stared at Helena.

I had heard there were prodigies from the Orient, freaks in circuses, who could spout numbers and formulæ from the tops of their heads that took weeks to verify that they were correct, but I relegated that to being fanciful stories. People couldn't float in mathematics like fish swam in water. People, real people, just weren't built that way. People had their feet planted firmly on terra firma, in reality.

I was looking at Helena, and I was looking at a progidy. I was looking at unreality.

"How did you ..." I began, agog, but then I stopped, just stunned.

I didn't even know what question to ask.

Helena looked back at me and smiled sadly, seeing in my eyes how I saw her.

"It's the coeffients of the _nth_ binomial," she said, then added as an explanation, "from Pascal."

And she shrugged.

Sally took charge. She glared at me, hard, challenging me directly with her stare, then she grabbed Helena by the arm. "C'mon, Leena, let's go," she snarled.

Then she and Helena were gone.

* * *

**A/N:** So, this chapter just kind of came along. Leena rescues Sally, for a change.

Today, it's easy enough for you to put on a spreadsheet the number 1, and then copy and paste the formula to add one to the last number and then SUM them all together. So, it's even easy for us to see that little Leena came up with the wrong answer. It was close, but it's wrong. And it's just a simple mistake, a very simple math error. Or should I say 'human error'?

She is human, after all.

But adding machines those days were mechanical and went up to hundreds, thousands, sometimes even ten thousands (with two decimal digits hardwired, so you could sum dollars AND cents), but adding machines, then, could only add two numbers at a time. You punched them in, one number each column at a time, then you cranked out the answer, then you had to re-zero the machine by setting each column to BLANK (that is, zero), by hand.

Summing one to one hundred on an adding machine would've taken _much longer,_ back then, than just doing the sum out by hand on the board.

And doing the sum to 523 would've been impossible to do in a day's time, or impossible, period (not without tweaking), because the sum would have flowed over the top of the adding machine's capacity.

Helena came up with the answer in less than a minute.

... if anybody else realizes that she could do this ... and all in her head ...

Helena's not just another poor Jew thrown in the back room of a ... someplace of business to cook the books.

That's just a little side-note to say that maybe Helena's of more value than she, or Sally, might realize. Or maybe Sally does realize this. That's why she wants to keep her friend under wraps: attention can be a bad thing ... 'bad thing' as in what happens in _Leena for my own._


End file.
